Be, Touch, Love
Justin fell asleep early tonight. Usually, he's more than willing to come out with me. "Get up, we're going out," I'll say to him, and his eyes light up. I don't even have to ask him twice. But tonight was different. He's been exhausted lately, so he opted to stay in. When I arrive home, the loft is dark and silent. I feel my way to the bedroom. He's there, completely naked and only half-covered by the sheet. He sleeps on his side, one arm tucked under his head. The other hangs off the bed. The blue lights are on, and he's never looked more beautiful to me. Quickly, I shed my clothing and crawl into bed beside him. It's there that I feel most comfortable.
I want to be with Justin. All the time. When I'm at work, I wish he were there with me. I even think about him when I trick. I long for him. I imagine that the lips on my cock are his, soft and supple. If I can just imagine that the trick is really Justin, then he is with me all the time.
I want to touch Justin. I run my hands across his shoulders and down his back. I brush my thumb across his cheek. I can do this without being worried about waking him up. He always sleeps like a rock. I lean down and kiss the back of his neck, then I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his hair, inhaling his scent. He smells good, like off-brand shampoo and Irish Spring, something I associate only with him.
I want to love Justin, but I don't want to say it. I don't want to shout it from the rooftops. I just want him to know it, because that's all that matters to me. I'm not one for commitment ceremonies or matching rings or even saying, "I love you," every day. Just saying it is bullshit. Showing it is better. I wrap my arms more tightly around him and rest my head against the warm skin of his bare shoulder. "Love you," I whisper. As if on cue, the little shit begins to shift around a little. He's awake. I freeze, wondering if he'd heard those three little words I swore would never cross my lips. No, not me. Not Brian Kinney.
"Brian?" Justin's voice is soft and thick with sleep. "You're home."
"Yeah," I reply, allowing my fingertips to stray. They brush across his cheek again and he smiles.
"I was tired," he says apologetically, turning over to look at me. "Did you have fun?"
How am I supposed to answer that?
"Yeah, Justin, I went to Babylon and spent the entire night getting my dick sucked in the Backroom?"
"It was okay," I say at length. "Nothing special." He seems satisfied with the answer, but probably only because he's half-asleep. He moves closer so our bodies are pressed together.
"I love you, Brian," he murmurs. The words slide easily from his lips. There's no hesitation, no awkwardness. Just truth. His eyelids flutter a little bit and he sighs deeply. "I love you," he says again, but not because he's waiting for me to reply. He buries his face into the crook of my neck and is still. Soon his breathing becomes slow, deep and even. He's sleeping again. His breath tickles my collarbone. Slowly, I begin to turn him so that he's laying across my right arm rather than across my chest. I pull him closer to me and hold him there. I want him there forever. Because he's mine. And because I love him.